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97. Pizza gone Bodmin

Classification: Convenience

I never believed frozen pizza was an occurrence exclusively from my past, but it’s been a number of years since I actively sought its comforts. But earlier this week while ensnared by the perils of dwindling supplies, I found myself forced into a grocery run designed to acquire enough essentials to coax us through another dinner hour, during which my wife suggested I pick up a pizza for her. I opted for soup and fruit—true story.


The brand of pizza doesn’t really even matter here, as it was garnished with vegetables and other non-starters anyway, ensuring that my dining interests would gravitate in other directions. But nothing signaled that the unfolding events of this evening would conspire against us in such an unforgiving manner.


After finishing my light (and enjoyable) dinner, my wife kindly asked if I’d like to finish the remaining remnants of hers. I hesitantly agreed, unknowingly launching a cascade of events destined to unravel the next few minutes, and turning our tranquil Sunday night into a torrent of terror and chaos. After a partial minesweeping of undesirable ingredients, the pizza had cooled to a point requiring a slight re-warming, which simultaneously gave the once-sturdy cardboard serving tray the approximate firmness of a Perkins buttermilk pancake. Now ready to serve, I following standard consumption protocol, spearing the pizza while in standing position and holding the tray extended away my body by 12-18 inches. To give it a more customized touch, I completed this step while hovering above our recently installed carpeting. The peril, which seems obvious now, reached its apex when the tray ultimately succumbed, with me watching in helpless horror as the contents tumbled across the living space, the pie landing with an unsatisfying thud; the wreckage multiplying with each rolling sausage ball revolution. I never use coarse or profane language, but with mouth closed and teeth firmly clenched, I may have silently, but forcefully, expressed some personal reflections of a grievous nature.


It looks like the carpet has made it mostly unscathed, but the pizza was immediately transformed into a fetid, lukewarm, unrecognizable dollop of wasted opportunity, spangled with onion and pepper shrapnel and freshly minted with a light dusting of new-carpet fiber residue. (4 of 10 stars)


PS: Happy birthday, Laur. You deserve a much better pizza than this!


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